Bruno answered with his own questions. “These people from Naples . . . when were they here?”
Stefano gave his opinion right away.
“Bastards!” he spat. “They came here plundering, looting, raping. They came when things got really bad. Just about the time when you cops had deserted us for good, right?”
Bruno refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, choosing instead to repeat the question. “So, like I said, when were they here?”
Stefano, giving up his taunting, shrugged. “Maybe eight months ago. Bunch of wankers, twenty or twenty-five of them, maybe more.”
Now Mauro spoke up. “A few of us fought. That’s how we found Aldo.”
Aldo didn’t even glance up as they talked, but continued trudging along, shoulders hunched. Bruno could see that as soon as Mauro mentioned how they found Aldo, he had treaded onto sensitive territory.
Paola spoke sotto voce. “Saverio and Mauro caught two of them by surprise. But not before they savaged Aldo’s daughter and nearly beat him to death.”
Stefano chimed in. “Oh, but we got a few of them good, didn’t we? Those bastards got what they deserved, didn’t they?”
Stefano turned towards Bruno, making a scissor’s cutting motion right at crotch-level, and laughed. “Better be nice to us, cop!”
Paola said nothing.
Now even people who used to be “the good guys” were as barbarous as the bad, discussing mutilation and torture as if talking about the funny parts in a movie. Not much more than a year ago, these boys’ only worry was whether their mothers would catch them sexting on their phones. Now they laughed about mutilating men. Their savagery is what passed for justice now. But Bruno wondered whether, just maybe, deep down, that’s how it had always been. Maybe it just took a disease to strip off the pretense of calculating justice and lay bare what really lurked in its heart: passionate revenge.
Mauro spoke up. “That bald guy.” Mauro shook his head. “I wish we could have gotten him, too! What a piece of—”
Bruno grabbed Mauro by the arm and Mauro pulled away, yanking a revolver from somewhere on his body.
“Don’t touch me! I’ll blow your fucking head off!”
Stefano swung his rifle towards Bruno’s chest. Everyone else stopped dead. Bruno threw up his hands, letting Mauro’s arm go.
“Sorry, I just need to know—” Bruno said.
“You just what?” answered Stefano. “What do you need to know?”
Bruno breathed deeply. “The bald one. What did he look like?”
Aldo spoke up for the first time. “He had a tattoo on his head. Double-headed eagle. I’ll never forget it.”
DeLuca took Bruno’s arm, whispering, “It’s all right.”
Paola stepped forward. “You know who he is.”
Bruno swallowed. “I think . . .” Bruno grew quiet. Then he spoke with confidence. “He’s a Camorrista. And a particularly nasty one. Nickname is Il Serbo. He wants to kill me. Or worse.”
“What’s he got against you?” asked Stefano.
“We were on a raid back when Omega was spreading. I shot his brother.” Bruno thought for a second about continuing his lie, but then realized it didn’t matter anymore. “It was an accident, but when the investigators asked me, I told them the brother made a grab for my weapon.” Bruno shrugged. “But he didn’t.”
Paola’s eyes narrowed. “You’re just as bad as they are.”
Bruno laughed. “Oh I see, you’re a saint, right?”
Paola just looked at him.
Bruno’s smile faded and he turned to the group. “You’ve all been perfect fucking angels since it all went to shit, is that it?” No one responded. His eyes narrowed as he moved toward Paola.
“That guy was a rapist and a murderer. I shot him by accident. I fucked up, yes. But he deserved what he got, and I don’t feel bad at all. Not one damn bit.”
“Weren’t you supposed to uphold the law, not break it?” Paola said. “And that was before the Blood Sweats really hit. What are you like now?”
Bruno didn’t answer, then Mauro spoke up.
“Oh, Paola doesn’t get how things are.” Mauro pointed his finger at Bruno and pulled a pretend trigger. “We get it. You finished him. He deserved it.”
Stefano joined in the joking, too. “Sure, don’t worry. If you’re lucky, maybe some other cop shot your Camorrista friend, too!”
Ignoring their derision, Bruno walked in silence near Aldo, while Mauro and Stefano lingered in the back, laughing, talking about nothing. Bruno eavesdropped as Paola and DeLuca discussed life after it all went to hell, how their group had gotten together, and the future.
“I was friends with Mauro’s mother,” Paola said to DeLuca. “She worked in my restaurant.”
Bruno slowed, matching pace with Paola and DeLuca and interrupted their discussion with a question of his own. “How did you survive?”
Paola looked at Bruno. “How did you? Like any of us. Hunkering down. Scavenging. Doing things we never thought we could.”
“What about Stefano and Saverio?” DeLuca asked.
“Saverio was one of Aldo’s students at school. And Stefano? Just a kid, some hooligan, really, loved the Sorrento calcio team. But a real scrapper. He took down three guys. Mauro and I found him unconscious, bleeding, a real mess, and those guys—well, let’s just say, they got more than they bargained for.”
“So why help him then?” asked Bruno. “He could have been dangerous. Why not let him die?”
“Same reason I helped you, maybe. I’ve got a soft spot for someone who’s a scrapper. That kind of person reminds me of my son. He never gave up, not even after . . .” Paola’s gaze wandered for a moment. Then she turned back to Bruno. “My son was a local, municipal police office here in Sorrento. He always said the Carabinieri got paid double to do half.”
Bruno smiled at her joke. But it was what she said next that infuriated him.
“But you’re not like him—I know he would never have done what you did.”
Bruno’s anger at this woman, who judged him and found him lacking, swelled.
“You judge me? They came after me—they raped my sister! Don’t you fucking dare judge me!”
She held his gaze as she spoke. “Guess you gave them exactly what they deserved, too, didn’t you?”
Bruno felt a hand on his arm.
“Bruno, please” said DeLuca. “Enough.”
Coming to his senses in a rush, Bruno backed away. Their situation was already precarious, and he didn’t want to make it any worse.
Eyes still boring into Bruno, they began moving again. Drifting back, Bruno turned his observations as best he could to the group as they made their way towards Sorrento’s main square. Stefano kept his rifle out and walked a few steps behind. Bruno knew Stefano wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he had another outburst. Bruno did his best to watch the others. He noticed the boys were on the lookout for anything unusual. He also noticed the confidence in their step, their causal ease as they walked. He could see they knew this area well, but he wondered if their overconfidence would someday be their undoing. Aldo, though, plodded along, mostly indifferent and quiet. Bruno studied Aldo as they walked. Aldo kept his gaze focused on the pavement just in front of him. His hunched shoulders and meek shuffle spoke of a broken man. Bruno wondered if he had any useful skills.
As they came into Sorrento’s main square, Saverio and Mauro led the group. The two produced revolvers. Paola, Bruno, and DeLuca walked just behind them. Aldo brought up the rear along with Stefano, who readied his rifle. Bruno could almost feel Stefano hoping for a reason to put a bullet in his back.
“Where is it?” asked Paola.
Bruno nodded towards the light-pink building with the stopped clock and glass enclosed patio.
“There?” said Saverio, glancing back at Bruno. “Fucking hell! A restaurant? Are you joking?”
Bruno shook his head. “No joke, it’s down the service entrance. Leads to what should be the basement. Who wo
uld ever think to put weapons there?”
Saverio shook his head as they crossed the square and stopped in front of the metal doors. “Well, now I know why the pizza here was always shit.”
By now the sun rode high in the sky, beating down on the group. Bruno could smell sweat and anxiety clinging to them as they stood there. He pulled open the door. A puff of cool air hit him in the face. Though the sun shone brightly, it only illuminated the top of the ramp. Beyond that, the darkness was complete.
Bruno opened his backpack and took out his flashlight. “Down here.”
Stefano gestured with his rifle. “You first.”
Bruno nodded. “Fair enough.”
“I’ll stand watch up here,” Mauro volunteered.
“I’ll stay with you,” said DeLuca.
“No,” said Stefano. “He comes with us!”
Paola nodded. “I agree. Mauro stays. The rest of us are going down with you, Bruno.”
Bruno shrugged. “Fine.” It didn’t matter if DeLuca came or stayed. If looters had gotten here first, if all that was down there was dust, Bruno knew that the cache would probably become their tomb. He looked down into the gloom, and his flashlight illuminated the area. He could see no sign of disturbance.
Paola and Aldo took out flashlights and turned them on.
“You walk in front. We’ll be right next to you,” said Paola.
Bruno walked between Paola and Aldo as they stepped down into the darkness. DeLuca followed on their heels, while Saverio and Stefano were in the back. The smell of dry dust filled Bruno’s nose. They walked in silence, almost as if the darkness demanded it. Bruno glanced behind him. Though already dim, he could just distinguish the rifle carried by Stefano, pointing towards DeLuca’s back.
After what seemed an age, they reached the dull steel doors.
“Here it is,” said Bruno, his voice sounding too loud in the dark. He moved past Paola to the panel. Touching the panel, it once again flared to life. He tucked the flashlight under one armpit, and then put in the combination.
“You pull anything, and DeLuca dies, then you,” said Stefano. Ignoring the threat, Bruno heard the sharp buzz of the door’s mechanism unlocking. Bruno turned back to the group. He had left the doors to the street open, so there was still some dim glow behind them. But he couldn’t see anyone’s face.
“This is it.”
Paola responded. “You first, Bruno. We’ll be right behind you.”
Bruno hoped a bullet wouldn’t be right behind him as well. Moving toward the door, he shifted the flashlight into his left hand and tugged on the door with his right. With some effort, the door swung outward. The darkness in the chamber seemed to creep out into the tunnel.
Bruno walked forward, swinging his flashlight around. He had the sense of a large space and his light hit the far wall dimly, maybe twenty meters from the entrance. His boots stirred up dust on the concrete floor, and the sounds from their steps echoed in the room as the rest of the group entered.
The beams from their flashlights danced all around the room, falling on bare concrete walls. Dust whirled around in the dark emptiness.
“There’s nothing here,” said Paola.
“Keep looking. There must be something,” said Bruno. He swept his flashlight back and forth, hoping that the signal was not an empty lie, empty like the space before him.
The group moved deeper into the room, their flashlights probing the darkness.
“I still don’t see anything,” said Saverio.
“Keep looking, for Christ’s sake!” said Bruno.
While looking towards what he thought was the far end of the room, Bruno heard a grunt and a thud behind him. Swinging around, his flashlight fell on Stefano towering over DeLuca, who was lying on the floor. Stefano pointed his rifle at DeLuca’s head.
“I said you were dead!” shouted Stefano.
“Let him up!” Bruno shouted. Light splashed around as Paola and Saverio aimed their pistols and shined their flashlights at Bruno.
The two flashlights weren’t powerful enough to blind him, but he squinted as he shouted again. “Let him up! I told you there were no guarantees!”
“I said that—” started Stefano, then a voice from across the room cut him off.
“Wait!” cried Aldo from across the dark room. “Over here! I found something!”
Bruno could see Paola looking at him, but couldn’t see her eyes as she spoke. “We’re all going to lower our weapons.”
Paola and Saverio lowered their weapons and aimed their flashlights at the ground. Though pointed down, they illuminated the gloom enough for Bruno to see Stefano still pointing his rifle at a prostrate DeLuca.
“Sure, we’ll do it your way then, Paola,” said Stefano, his voice taut. Stefano stepped back and DeLuca scrambled to his feet.
“Look at this!” shouted Aldo across the dark room.
The rest of them made their way over to Aldo’s voice. He pulled aside a tarp and tossed it to the floor. Their flashlights shone on what was underneath, illuminating the lines of a motorcycle, with an attached side car. The motorcycle shielded most of the sidecar from view, as the sidecar butted up against the stone wall.
“That’s it?” said Stefano. “A motorcycle?”
“Keep going,” said Bruno. “There might be something else here.”
The group fanned out, beams of light bobbing around. But after a few minutes they ended up back at the motorcycle.
“What the hell are we going to do with this?” asked Stefano.
Bruno approached the motorcycle, flashlight in hand, starting at the front and walking toward the back.
“Key’s in the ignition, at least,” he said. “Maybe it still has fuel.”
Aldo grunted. “Lovely. Maybe we could take turns riding the scenic road along the coast.”
Bruno ran one hand along the body and moved the flashlight beam along its length. “I think I recognize the model,” said Bruno. “It’s unmarked, got a diesel engine.”
Bruno remembered that diesel fuel lasted longer than gasoline, so he hoped it might still run. He half-mounted the motorcycle and looked in the sidecar. Shining his flashlight into it, Bruno saw a long barrel. He grasped it and pulled it out. The group’s flashlights converged on Bruno.
Bruno studied the long lines of the weapon.
“One fucking rifle? That’s all? What can we do with this?” said Stefano.
Bruno looked closely at the scope on top. The rifle had a shorter, somewhat “bull-pup” design, not as lean as an M-16. He adjusted the stock, shorter, longer, then he saw that it folded. A detachable bipod dangled from near the end of the barrel, making it top-heavy.
“Nice,” Bruno said under his breath. Then he raised his voice. “I’ve never seen one of these before, but I’ve heard of it. They were just starting to issue this rifle when everything went to hell. Certain army units got it first.”
He looked again at the scope mounted along the top of the rifle.
“Must be a laser scope of some sort,” he said.
The scope was obviously designed to be quickly detached, judging by the levers at its base. But it seemed unusually large and bulky. There was an on/off button, and other buttons, black rubber, running flush along the base.
He pushed the on button and looked in the scope. He had never seen anything like it. What he saw reminded him of a heads-up display in a fighter plane. As he looked into it, he remembered an article he'd read on a military website describing a scope like this. He remembered now reading about this scope and what it could do. Bruno leaned over and looked in the sidecar, shining his flashlight. There was an ammo can and a magazine. Bruno turned toward the group, smiling.
“It’s an ARX-160. And with this scope and enough ammo, maybe we can start an empire.”
Aldo spoke up first.
“With one rifle? What the hell are we going to do with one rifle?”
Bruno stuffed the extra magazine in his pants pocket. He grabbed the ammo can with on
e hand while he held the rifle.
“Don’t worry, lads,” said Bruno. “It’s empty! Here!”
Bruno handed the rifle to Paola.
Paola took the rifle and Bruno strode through the middle of the group, walking back toward the entrance.
They stood there in the semi-dark, waiting for some explanation. Bruno nodded back toward where they had come in.
“Come on. Let me show you what this thing can do.”
Chapter 21
October 7
The sound of a single gunshot broke the morning silence.
The summer, lingering on past its prime, clinging to life like a sour old man, made Bruno sweat. Bruno wiped his brow with his sleeve and squinted into the distance, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Good shot, Aldo!” he shouted.
From his position on one knee, Aldo stood and hoisted the rifle up from the ledge. Bruno stood behind, slightly to Aldo’s right. Far down the street towards the heart of Sorrento, on the top of another nondescript apartment building, Bruno could just make out a row of terracotta flower pots along the roofline. But the line of pots now had a gap. Aldo shielded his eyes and looked downrange. After admiring his handiwork for a moment, he turned around, smiling, and handed the rifle to Bruno. Bruno could see a change in Aldo from when they’d first met. Aldo now had a spark in his eye. He had a purpose.
The group stood behind Aldo on the roof of the apartment building where they made their home. Stefano huddled by Saverio and Mauro, while Paola and DeLuca stood in their own group a little apart from the others.
After making sure the rifle chamber was empty, Bruno glanced around. The group made quite a sight, ears plugged with random scraps of cloth dangling along the sides of their heads. Bruno pulled the cloth from his ears with one hand, and the rest of the group followed his lead.
“Good shot,” he repeated. “I think we’re done. You hit that pot dead-center!”
Saverio laughed. “He never misses, does he?”
Aldo shook his head, smiling. “Almost never.”
Bruno smiled. “That pot must be over six hundred meters away.”
“Actually,” answered Aldo, “it was six hundred thirty-four meters, to be exact.”
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